


Armless

by Thette



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, No Sex, Sex Talk, Sex Toys, TARDIS rooms, four/romana mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TARDIS exploration, but is everything really 'armless? Unabashed fluff. Takes place during mid-S2, references plenty of Classic Who (including Lungbarrow) and The Stone Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armless

**Author's Note:**

> Contains frank discussion of kinks, but not actual sex. The Ten/Rose romance is mostly implied.
> 
> Written for the [Happy Prompts Ficathon, prompt #10, Funny Photos](http://community.livejournal.com/twdw_ficathon/12835.html). Originally posted [here](http://rosemaryfic.livejournal.com/3892.html) June 1st 2008.
> 
> Beta readers: [Perivaleyard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perivaleyard/), michiexile, equusregia and cmseward on LJ.

"TARDIS hide and seek?" the Doctor boggles.  
  
"Well, we're stuck in the Vortex with nowhere else to go, I'm bored," Rose says and continues over the first syllables of his objections, "and I'm not in the mood for reading, no matter how well equipped your library is."  
  
"It's just that the last time..." he says with a blush.  
  
"...Jack suggested naked hide and seek," she giggles. "Don't worry. I have no intention to force you out of that suit. I just want you to keep me company, and stop fiddling with your ship for a while."  
  
"Anyway, you can't hide from me. You broadcast your emotions and your general there-ness like a beacon." He smiles. "Never stop shining like the sun, Rose."  
  
"You just flatter me to change my mind," she says, smiling with her tongue sticking out, but she welcomes the compliment.  
  
"How about picnic and internal exploration instead? Tea, sandwiches, a real red and white blanket, and then we go open doors at random?" He barely has the time to finish the sentence before she runs off to the kitchen to pack the basket.  
  
***  
  
"I'd like you to actually follow my rules for once. The first rule of TARDIS exploration is that you keep out of the rooms marked 'Danger! Explosives!'. Really, don't snigger like that. I used to travel with a," he smiles and imitates Harriet Jones, "very violent young woman called Ace. Her explosives could blow up a Dalek."  
  
"Those could have been handy," she mutters.  
  
"One Dalek, not a Dalek armada. Anyway, you can wander off all you want. It's perfectly safe here, apart from the explosives. And the radioactive material. And the prison cells. And the time spiders. Don't wander off, okay?"   
  
"You'll just have to follow me then. Company, yeah? But I get to pick the doors to open." Her eyes are alight with the pleasure of discovery.  
  
***  
  
They start by going first left, second right, third on the left, straight ahead, under the stairs, past the bins and take the fifth door on their left. She just loves the TARDIS wardrobe. The door opens on the first level, where the period outfits are. "I know you'd look smashing in a toga," she says, picking up one that's not much longer than her miniskirts.  
  
"Practical things, togas. In style nog just during the Roman Empire, and we're not going back there. I like you better when you're flesh and blood..."  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"...but also during several of the warmer centuries. Early fiftieth, for example, and during the New Roman Empire, of course, and let's not forget the togas plus kilts that were all the rage on Beta five hundred years post colonisation. I'm still not wearing that. I have some sense of modesty."  
  
"And I bet you have a great pair of legs, too. I take it we're not going to any nudist planets?"  
  
"Oh, no. Staying far away from those. Temperature regulation, you know. Except in case of Dalek attacks, of course."  
  
"Where and when is this thing from?" she asks, holding a plastic and neon blue skintight dress with a skirt made out of inch-wide strips.  
  
"You're not going out in that. It's a prostitute outfit from the third moon of Plato, circa five apple three."  
  
She blushes and immediately puts it back. "I've only been on this floor. What's upstairs?"  
  
"Oh, just all of my outfits. Wanna see some of the crazy things I've worn?"  
  
"Any time." They run up the stairs holding hands.  
  
She wraps herself in the impossibly long scarf and smells it. It doesn't smell like him, not the him she knows. Instead of oil, leather and musk or oil, citrus and just masculine and clean, it smells of something else. Something alien. Ozone and spices. Cinnamon? Ginger? Cardamom? Not quite, but almost. There's still a hint of TARDIS engine fluids. He picks up the long fringe and caresses the first few stripes. Fawn, rusty red and washed out blue. She twirls out of it, one, two, three, four revolutions, and ends up with the other fringe in her hand. It's like a strange dance, and they're at the apogee. He reels her in. "How did you wear that?"  
  
"Round my neck, dragging on the floor, with great difficulty. I was always tripping on it."  
  
She feels the frills of a white silk shirt hanging beside the scarf, and tries to picture him in it. The next hanger holds a multicoloured coat, with clashing bright fabrics, some patterned and some not. The texture of the pieces also differ, ranging from corduroy to sturdy cotton. It reeks of sweat and it makes her think of anger. Shaking her head, she puts the coat and hanger back. The hanger next to it holds a yellow and green waistcoat with red question marks. The garment smells of enclosed spaces, dust and ash. An umbrella, black with a large red question mark for a handle, falls on the floor. "Please tell me you didn't wear all these things at once?"  
  
"Thank goodness, no. In each regeneration, I've had my own peculiar sense of style, but at least it's been a style and not a terrible mish-mash."  
  
She walks to the back of the closet, and pulls out a familiar leather jacket. She puts it on, closes her eyes and inhales slowly.  
  
"Do you still miss me, even though I'm right here?" Her eyes open wide and she jerks her head up.  
  
"I think I always will. It's still good, being with you, but it's not the same. Different good. Different Doctor, no better or worse." He reaches for her hand inside the sleeve and strokes her fingers with his thumb.  
  
"I'm glad you stayed." He breaks the moment with a grin. "Jealous of myself. Oh, the perils of being a Time Lord."  
  
***  
  
"I didn't know we had a pool."  
  
"You never asked."  
  
"Care for a swim?"  
  
"Uhm... The water in the pool is another of those things that aren't perfectly safe. I saved the last of the triple-finned sharkoids from Rasmalla V, but they need an environment that's toxic to humans. See the faint yellow glow in the water?"  
  
"Sharks?!"  
  
"Triple-finned sharkoids. Sort of like a cross between a shark and an eel, and they're definitely not safe either."  
  
***  
  
They go up the stairs, down the hallway, third to the left and then second to the left. She picks a door that looks just like any other door on the ship, and he nods just a tiny bit. Inside is a small study. A desk made of a dark, almost black, material takes up the center of the room, and the walls are covered by holograms. She strokes the desk across the top and down the leg. The wood is slick under her hands. "Don't you think we should be introduced first?" the desk asks her snarkily, and she jumps in shock.  
  
"Now you know why I left my home planet," he says, tears in his voice. "I couldn't stand arguing with the furniture. This is the Gallifrey room."  
  
Gallifrey. She didn't know the name before. She looks around. The room is dusty and obviously unused. "Why do you keep the only things left of your home planet hidden?"  
  
"I try to keep my happy memories of Gallifrey here. I carry the horrors with me all the time, so I wanted a place where I could see the good parts." His eyes are focused on something in the distance. "I really used to despise the talking furniture," he turns to the desk, "no offense meant."  
  
"None taken," the desk replies.  
  
"...but it turns out that I miss them. I miss so much about Gallifrey, even if I couldn't run away from it fast enough when it was there." He gently strokes the desk, and his fingers make complicated patterns based on interlocking circles and hexagons.  
  
"Doctor," she asks, her voice trembling with emotion, "why don't you come here more often?"  
  
"Why would I need to?" His smile starts small and slowly spreads, until he can barely contain it. "I've got my new memories with you."  
  
She takes his right hand with her left, feeling the perfect fit of his fingers between hers. She picks up a black and white photo strip, one taken in a photo booth somewhere, that was lying on the desk. The couple in the small booth are grinning widely in one picture and making faces in the others. The man, leaning his chin on her head, has slightly protruding eyes and wide expressive lips. His hair is curly and uncombed and his stripey scarf is wrapped around them both. She is tiny and delicate, with long, straight, dark hair, and she's holding a straw hat. "Is that the scarf we just saw in the wardrobe?"  
  
"Yup. And that is me in the picture. Me and Romana." He squeezes her hand.  
  
She laughs, slightly surprised at seeing a picture of a previous regeneration. "Well, I'm sorry for implying 'Ol Big Ears' was unattractive, not that you were."  
  
"Did you just call me ugly?" he whines.  
  
"What if I did?" she says, tongue flirtingly poking out.  
  
"Well, for one thing, I'll not tell you anything else about who she was," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and pretending to be strict.  
  
"Come on, Doctor. I want to know. I take it she's a previous companion, like Sarah Jane."  
  
"Yes, she was a companion, but totally unlike Sarah Jane. Romana was a Time Lady. She had just regenerated in that picture. I was infatuated with the new her, and we were taking a vacation, in Paris. Just travelling a bit for fun and pleasure, and we took those pictures on Gare du Nord." He turns to her. "You know how it is, and you know how it ends up when I try to go on a vacation."  
  
"Running for your lives as usual?" She has travelled with him for a while now, she knows how it is. "How come you two didn't stay together? Did she die in the War?"  
  
"Are you asking me why I didn't choose to be with someone who wouldn't wither and die?" he said with a wry grin. "She left me. Went back home to be Madam President Romanadvoratrelundar of Gallifrey. But yes, she died, fighting valiantly, in the Time War. Everybody did."  
  
"I'm impressed. You've travelled with a president."  
  
"Don't be. I was elected once, too. Ran away from it all, of course."  
  
She laughs, not sure if she believes him.  
  
***  
  
They go up several flights of stairs, and Rose is winded by the time they reach the top. She reaches over the railing, watching the spiral staircase turn around the gigantic coral-like support pole. On every floor, corridors leave this hub like the spokes of a wheel, and she knows from experience that those corridors multiply in twists and turns. She lays her hand on the door handle, looking askingly at him, and when he nods, more a lowering of his eyes than any movement of his head, she gently lowers it. "You have got to be kidding me!"  
  
"What? Why?" he asks.  
  
"You keep a cellar on top of the stairs? Why? Why even have a cellar? It's not like you lack storage space."  
  
"I must have thought I needed one sometime. Or the TARDIS thought I did. She's a considerate girl," he says as he pats the wall.  
  
"Do you two want to be alone?"   
  
He stares at her as if he doesn't understand. "Oh, and watch out for the webs. I don't want to wait for hours while you're being lost in your personal history."  
  
***  
  
In a cul-de-sac with three doors, she picks the left one. He hesitates. "Are you sure you want to see this?" A hint of a blush colours his freckled cheeks.   
  
She doesn't answer, but instead hastily pulls the door open. The room inside is piled with stuff of all kinds. Some obviously alien and some, she realises when a very human vibrator pokes her in the back, not at all. "Oi, pervert! You've got a sex toy closet!"  
  
"Uhm..." He rubs his neck. "Well..." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Yeah."  
  
"I can see why you never told me about this."  
  
"It's not like that, really. I'm interested in sex. You humans are usually so limited, with your tabs in your slots, but you've got some great perversions going. Most species have. See, the thing about perversion is that it says a great deal about the society where it originated." He's in full Doctor babbling mode, and she feels like she can listen to him all day long. "There are the obvious taboos: people you shouldn't breed with, people who can't consent, societal role reversals and so on, but if we move on beyond that, you'll find that most perversions are about a non-dominant form of sensory input. You people are a visual lot. So, it's perverted to watch other people have sex, but it's even more perverted to listen to them or smell them. You even use 'pantysniffer' as a perjorative." She is suddenly all too aware of how she smelled his clothes. "Touch-dominant people are maybe the most perverted of them all. Leather, latex, fur, satin, mud, it's all about how it feels to the touch."  
  
"You mean the people who get off on sitting in bathtubs full of baked beans are perverts because they like to touch things instead of seeing them?" He raises his eyebrow questingly. "What? Me and Shareen used to read the sex advice columns for fun!"  
  
"Yes, add baked beans to the list. And scratch beans on toast for dinner."  
  
"You never make me beans on toast anyway."  
  
"Moving on, you've got all your great senses beyond the classical five. Proprioception, now that's not socially accepted at all." He picks up a pair of hi-tech handcuffs, that looks a lot like the pair Jack sometimes used to play with when he was flirting.  
  
"Say what?"  
  
"The sense of where your body parts are. Bondage types are into that, as well as sexual gymnasts. And talking about that kind of stuff, nociception, the pain sense, and the two thermal systems are also not the kind of sexual input you admit you like in polite company." He glances over to a shelf with a riding crop, some metal objects, a pair of oven mitts and a blindfold. "And, oh, can't forget sensory deprivation! That's some seriously kinky stuff. Don't touch that!"  
  
She puts away a silvery tube that flares out at both ends. "Okay. What is it?"  
  
"Another thing that's not perfectly safe. It's a Dravidarian eyepiece. They put it on the eyestalk, and get visual, tactile and proprioceptive stimulation, and stimulation of a peculiar sense they have in the stalk. If you were to, say, stick your finger in it, I don't know what it'd do, but I bet it'd hurt. Could perhaps take your hand off, or your entire arm."  
  
"'Armless," she laughs, quoting him. "What about this one?" She holds a blue dome that looks a bit like a jellyfish.  
  
"Oh, that's something for the squid people. They hold that with all their arms and press it against their jaw. Say it feels like sensing all the streams in the ocean at once."  
  
"What sort of kinky things do the Time Lords do when they're not out travelling?" Her question embarrases him into silence. "I know you have all sort of strange senses for time and space. You told me, when you first met me, that you could feel the revolution of the Earth. You say your history is perfect, which probably means you can sense time the same way." She scoots onto a strangely normal chair and puts her feet up. "So... How can you stimulate that kind of senses?" She has a cruel streak, and loves to see him flustered. She leans over towards him. "Or... Perhaps... You could be deprived of those senses? Wouldn't that be really naughty?" With a quick peck on the cheek, she rises and moves out of the room, leaving him behind. "What's next?"  
  
***  
  
The next door she opens leads to a bedroom, about the size of her own. The decoration couldn't be more different, though. Animal skins and weapons hang on the wall, and the bed is just a collection of furs and pelts. "Who lived here?"  
  
"Her name was Leela. It's probably obvious from the room, but she was from a savage planet. I didn't even invite her, she forced me to take her with me. I grew quite fond of her, brutal manners and all, before she left me. She found love on Gallifrey, of all places. Was even going to give birth to a child."  
  
She touches the things Leela left behind. "Do you keep the rooms of all your companions as they are when they leave?"  
  
"Well... You never know... Sometimes people come back. Not Leela, though. I just close the door and leave it to the TARDIS. She takes care of the rooms and moves them out of the usual corridors. Stop!" He squeaks the last word.  
  
She spins around. "What?"  
  
"She left Janis thorns out in the open, just like that."  
  
"Janis thorns?"  
  
"Touch those slender thorns on that shelf, and you'd be dead unless I got you to the infirmary in time."  
  
***  
  
Walking out into the TARDIS garden for the first time is much like walking out on a new alien planet. Even if she's gotten used to the enormous spaces inside the small wooden box, she can't understand where the brilliant blue sky comes from. They amble along the gravel paths arm in arm, past alien flowers and trees. He reaches into his bigger on the inside pockets, and pulls out a straw hat for her. For once, even the Doctor is silent. She looks up at him, and is reminded of her first date with the New New Doctor on New Earth. The grass smells lovely, even if it's not applegrass, and she finds them the perfect spot to have the picnic. A brook bubbles lively just beneath a slope covered with some red flowers, short and wide, all flower and no stem. They spread the blanket in a grove of trees that not only interlock their branches, but seem to grow into each other. He pours them tea and she arranges the cucumber and egg sandwiches on the paper plates. "Still bored?"  
  
She stretches and lies down on the blanket. "I've had the most wonderful day. And you've taught me not to listen to you when you say something's safe."  
  
"'Armless," he laughs. "You do know people have gotten lost in here, right?" He lies down on the other side of the meal and looks her in the eyes.  
  
"Oh, I'm not surprised. But you said I can't hide from you, so I'm sure you could find me whenever you wanted to. Did you bring anything else in that basket of yours?"  
  
"I believe it's traditional to have a glass of wine in the grass."  
  
"You pour me a glass, and I'll go look at the bushes over there." She points to her left.  
  
He turns his face towards the warm sky, smiles contentedly, and pops the cork of the bottle of rosé wine he brought. The pink sweet wine fills the two tulip glasses, and he takes a careful sip of his. The wine gets warmer and warmer as he waits for her, and he starts fiddling. After a while, he can hear her scream his name. He runs towards her voice, only to find her with her arm buried in a flesh-eating flower. He sets his sonic screwdriver to resonate on a certain frequency and aims it at the base of the horrible, yellow-brown thing. After a few agonising minutes, it releases her into his arms.  
  
"Doctor, I'm sorry for wandering off..."  
  
"I know. I promise, no more 'armless jokes. Let's get you patched up, and we'll finish those glasses of wine. Stay with me?"  
  
"Always."


End file.
